Like Clockwork
by Phinneas McCheeser
Summary: This is my take on the 100 Themes challenge. Every once in a while, I might add any oneshot I've written that's less than 1000 words - ratings for oneshots will be included in the author's note. Themes rated K for now.  Themes will include spoilers for all eleven books, so please proceed with caution!
1. Themes 1, 2, and 3

**Okay, this is my take on the 100 themes challenge. I will have three themes to a chapter (mine are sort of long-ish). I got the themes from the fantastic spookisapuppy's profile. Now, the thing is, there were two lists of themes on said profile. And, well, me being me, I couldn't figure out which one to do. So I am doing both. = )**

**And now, I present to you, the amazingly unique **drumroll** **_**Phinneas McCheeser's 200 Themes Challenge**_**™!**

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><p><strong>Introduction<strong>

A loud, agonized scream echoed through the halls of Redmont castle, and Halt found himself gripping the arms of his chair even harder than he had before. He could hear Pauline's encouraging voice from inside the room: "Come on, Alyss, you can do it!" Alyss shouted something very loud and probably highly uncomplimentary towards her husband. Any other time, such an action would have made Halt smile slightly—but now, of course, he was far too tensed up for such an action.

Alyss screamed again. "WILL TREATY, YOU ARE NEVER TOUCHING ME EVER AGAIN!" she shrieked. Halt sensed someone drop into a chair beside him.

"Always was a creative girl, Alyss," Baron Arald said. Though his tone was most likely meant to be light, Halt could detect the note of concern in his voice. "She'll be fine," the baron said. He nodded to Halt. "I'll be back soon."

Halt didn't even notice him leaving. All he heard was his wife shouting. "Alyss, just one more push!"

"It hurts!" Alyss moaned.

"I know! Just one more!"

With one last scream, Alyss apparently pushed her baby out. There was a bustle of movement in the room. Several minutes later, a tired-looking man with tousled brown hair stepped out of the room and closed the door. Will smiled at Halt, all traces of his previous exhaustion gone. "Come in," he said. Halt rose, his head still pounding with the sheer volume of Alyss's screams.

Inside, Pauline was still sitting at Alyss's bedside. The elegant blonde was propped up on a multitude of pillows, and she held a small bundle of blankets in her arms. When Halt and Will entered the room, she looked up. She still managed to look stunning, Halt thought, even when she was sweaty and wearing a nightgown. She smiled radiantly at him.

"It's a girl, Halt," she said softly. She held out the bundle, and when Will shoved him forwards, Halt realized that he was supposed to hold her. He stepped towards the bed, suddenly nervous. What if her dropped her?

But as soon as the bundle touched his arms, all his worried evaporated instantly.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the baby. In fact, her face was red, and slightly squashed-looking. But to Halt, she was the most beautiful thing in the world. He smiled slightly when he saw her wispy brown hair.

"What's her name?" he asked.

"Ariadne," Alyss spoke up.

Araidne yawned in Halt's arms. He looked down at her. Her eyes weren't yet open, and she didn't even have any teeth yet. "Ariadne," Halt whispered.

For the rest of his life, Halt would remember this introduction as one of the most important in his life. This was the introduction that made him a grandfather.

_Word count: 459_

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><p><strong>Love<strong>

Crowley, being Halt's best friend, had stood by his side for many, many years. In that time, he had had the rather satisfying pleasure of seeing Halt go from a dark, unmovable force-to-be-reckoned-with sort of person to the sarcastic, loyal, permanently-raised-eyebrow person he was today.

He remembered several weeks after they had first met, while they were traveling across the rugged terrain of Araluen's western coast. One night, by the light of a small campfire, Crowley had offhandedly mentioned his parents. "What about you, Halt?" he asked cheerfully. "Do you miss your family?"

There was a strange, guarded sort of tone to Halt's voice as he replied. "No, not particularly." Crowley had been aghast at this revelation.

"But they're your family!" he exclaimed. Halt paused for a moment, staring into the hypnotizing flames of the campfire as though they held the answer.

"My parents always argued," he said carefully. "I think the only person I've ever really loved is my sister." And that was all Crowley ever managed to pry out of Halt about his family. Still, it showed Crowley that his companion did indeed have a heart, no matter how deeply is was buried under the rubble of sarcasm and dark humor.

Years later, the friendship Halt and Crowley had created formed into something more. Yes, it was love, but the sort of love that existed between two brothers. Crowley knew it, and Halt knew it as well. And Halt didn't pull away.

Years after the encounter had taken place, Crowley could still remember the day he had been introduced to Halt's second apprentice, Will. He had had the pleasure of watching with Halt, side by side, as skill morphed into pure talent and genius. But it wasn't until a year later, when Halt willingly gave up his place in the Corps to find Will, that Crowley realized that Halt also loved Will—not as a brother, but as a son.

And then, in the final year of Will's apprenticeship, Halt and Pauline finally married. Crowley had watched as their relationship slowly developed and blossomed over the years. And this was yet another kind of love, the kind that exists between a man and a woman. And Halt and Pauline would probably never have children—but then again, they didn't need to, if the way they looked at Will and Alyss was any indication.

And then Crowley remembered what had set him thinking about all this in the first place. He recalled earlier on in the day, when a grinning Horace had swamped him, waving a letter over his head excitedly and yelling, "Finally! Finally!"

He chuckled to himself and stared out over the castle grounds. "Grandfather… This should be interesting."

_Word count: 452_

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><p><strong>Light<strong>

_Thunk!_

_Crash!_

Pauline rolled over with a groan. Where the house had been silent several moments ago, there was now the sound of her husband cursing. Loudly. She sighed. If he had done it_again_…

Halt found himself lying on the ground, a table on the floor beside him. His shins hurt like mad. There was only one possible explanation: He had somehow run into the table while heading to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

He started cursing. He must have been louder than he had thought, because next thing he knew, the door was opening.

Pauline appeared in the doorway, a small candle in her hand. She took one look at her husband's frowning face and the knocked-over table and sighed. "Halt," she said, "look at this. It's an excellent invention called a candle. You use it so that you can see at night." She walked over to her husband and helped him up, then righted the table with a slightly irritated expression on her face.

Halt tried to explain. "I don't have a candle in here because I normally know my way around so well that I don't need one." Pauline smirked inwardly. Plan B—make yourself appear innocent. Halt was subtly implying that it wasn't his fault because he didn't have a candle.

Pauline sighed once again. She walked Halt back to their bedroom and led him over to the bedside table. She rummaged around in the drawer for a moment, then came up with something.

A candle.

She pressed the wax stick into Halt's stunned hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

_Word Count: 271_

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><p><strong>Well, that's all for this chapter. The next one should be up soon. Don't forget to review! They make me update faster.<strong>


	2. Oneshot: What You Leave Behind

**This is one of the oneshots I mentioned in the summary. It's sort of (but not really) a 'what would happen if…?' from my oneshot Scarred. You should definitely read that one first (or just skip this chapter). I have included a small excerpt from Scarred just to show you where we are.**

**You can interpret the chapter title however you want.**

**Rating: T  
>For: Violence and one near-death situation... And a little bit of blood. If you've read Scarred already, you should know this. <strong>

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><p><em>He had saved Will, of course. He still remembered the look of relief on Will's face as they had convinced that poor excuse for a human being Egon to let go of him. He remembered gently untying his hands and cleaning his face—and, most of all, he remembered the way Will had clung to him for most of the rest of the night, refusing to let go.<em>

—Excerpt from _Scarred._

"You want me to let him go, then?" Egon sneered. "Fine then. Here you go." He kicked Will's legs out from under him, letting go of his arm at the same time. With his arms bound tightly behind him, he fell hard on the ground, gasping at the unexpected pain.

Halt stepped forwards quickly, rushing to his apprentice's aid. He helped Will up, feeling his sigh of relief as he realized he was safe. Halt turned him around gently. "Let's see about untying these," he said softly. He set to work on Will's bonds, wincing slightly as he saw how tightly the knots had been tied, how cruelly the rope dug into his skin.

The rope eventually fell to the ground. Will turned around to face Halt. "Thanks," he said softly. Halt nodded, then looked up.

Egon was standing a few feet away, smirking. Halt looked at him warily.

"This is all very touching," he said, "But I'm afraid that you'll have to see the Oberjarl now, which means that I get to take those two," he said, gesturing to Will and Evanlyn, who had, like Horace, dismounted minutes before.

Halt stepped slightly in front of Will. The message was clear: Go away if you know what's good for you.

Erak cleared his throat. "Halt, he does have to take them. It's the law." Halt turned around to glare at him. Erak explained. "Slaves have to be taken in separately. That's the law. I can't do anything about it."

Halt turned to glare at him. They stayed that way for several seconds—Erak, apologetic, yet stubborn; Halt, unwilling to allow a repeat of a few minutes ago.

That, unfortunately, was his mistake.

By turning, he left Will unprotected. Egon, seeing his chance, lunged at Will, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the group—and the only people who had a chance to protect him.

Egon held Will up against his chest, that dreaded knife at his throat once more. "Right," he snarled, "The girl can come over now, or the boy can die. You pick." Halt was frozen in place. Horace moved protectively in front of Evanlyn.

Egon smirked. "All right then." He moved the knife slightly, and Will cried out in surprise and pain. Egon moved the knife to allow the Araluens to see the thin red line on Will's throat.

"He's not dead yet. Bring the girl over."

No one moved. Egon brought the knife up to its former position threateningly. And then Halt remembered the way Egon had called Will 'it' earlier that morning, and realized that he would do it. Will was nothing to him. He felt fear stab at his heart—

And then Evanlyn broke free of Horace and ran forwards. "Don't kill him!" she screamed.

"Evanlyn!" Horace yelled. Evanlyn stopped next to Will, breathing hard.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said quietly, so that only the three of them could hear.

Evanlyn looked into his eyes. Green met brown. His eyes looked just as they had on the night they had burned the bridge. He had been willing to be either captured or killed to remove the threat it posed. Will had been ready to take the risk. She had known it then, and she knew it now.

Evanlyn shook her head.

"And just let you die? After all I've done to keep you alive?" She remembered the days in the mountains, spent caring for Will—the boy that used to be an apprentice Ranger, a powerful weapon, reduced to the shell of a person who didn't even know his own name. She shook her head again.

Egon chuckled. "Well, that problem's solved." He grabbed Will's arm with one hand and Evanlyn's with the other. Evanlyn winced at his tight grip. Will, she noticed, was staring straight ahead, determinedly not looking behind him.

He never did.

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><p><strong>Erm, if you didn't get that last bit, it does say in the books that Will never looks behind him during a farewell of any sort (except for that one time, I think, in book 9).<strong>

**Please review!**


	3. Themes 4, 14, and 64

**I'm back! This is only my second update since the glorious dawn of summer vacation - a fact of which I am very much ashamed - and I know that I deserve to be shot and thrown off a bridge and all those other painful ways to die. However, I did remember to update eventually, which is why I am asking all my wonderful reviewers out there to please spare my miserable life. And maybe drop me a review while they're at it. :)**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it.**

**This chapter: Dark, Smile, and Responsibility. Halt, bridges, and Skandia will make appearances - read on to find out where.**

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><p><strong>Dark<strong>

Halt had always known that Skandia would change Will. But he hadn't thought it would haunt him this badly.

The most obvious change in Will was physical—he was painfully thin. But this didn't worry Halt much. What saddened him the most was the lost innocence that Will seemed to possess. He had come back from Skandia with the newfound knowledge of just how cold cold can be, and how dark the darkness is. It happened to all Rangers at some point or another—their dangerous job guaranteed it—but Will was simply too young.

Halt remembered when they had been in Hallasholm, and they had been walking over to the Great Hall. They had cut through the yard. Will and Evanlyn were stoically ignoring the slaves that meandered meaninglessly past them, carrying out their respective tasks without fighting. Suddenly, the air had been shattered by a sharp crack, and a desperate cry of pain.

They had continued walking, until they saw it.

A boy about Will's age was tied with his arms above his head to the large wooden post in the middle of the yard. His back was bloody. A guard stood behind him, and as they watched, he raised a whip over his head and brought it down with a heavy crack over the boy's shoulders.

Halt had known, instinctively, by the way that Will had stiffened at the sight of the brutal whipping, that he had once been there. Will had, at one point, been the one bound cruelly to the post, unable to do anything but wait helplessly for the next lash of the whip to slash painfully into torn and broken skin. He placed a hand on Will's shoulder, letting him know that he was there. He saw that Evanlyn was holding Will's hand in her own.

That night, Halt had brought the incident up. Between him and Will only. After some gentle prodding, Will had finally divulged the information he had been holding back. Yes, whippings were common in Hallasholm. Yes, they were similar to the one they had witnessed earlier. And finally—yes, Will had been whipped multiple times.

Halt had been witness to several of Will's nightmares over the past month, and they had burdened him greatly. For a sixteen-year-old, Will had seen a great many things, both good and bad.

Halt, however, was confident that, whatever the future would bring, the good would far outweigh the bad. And just as the sun unfailingly triumphs over the darkened night, Will would put this behind him. The sun would rise. The dark would burst into a glorious flame of hope, dissipating like mist on a sunny day.

The sun would rise.

The dark is light.

_Word count: 453_

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><p><strong>Smile<strong>

It was one thing to see Will smile.

He smiled all the time. His bright, cheery grin had slowly become an integral part of life at Castle Redmont. When Will smiled, it made you want to smile along with him. When Will smiled, the sun shone brighter.

It was one thing to see Will smile.

It was entirely another to see the same expression on Halt.

The grizzled old Ranger was actually a very dry, humorous, and overall pussycat-like person—as opposed to the cold-blooded assassin persona that he projected to the rest of the world. Still, his smile was about as rare as rain in the desert—and the aftermath left by it was something just as beautiful.

When Will smiled, it was because he was happy.

When Halt smiled, it was always something more.

When Halt smiled, the sun didn't come out. The rainclouds didn't dissipate. But it made the darkness seem less dark, because it gave you the reassurance you needed to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It gave you something to live for—because once you saw it, you just wanted to see it again.

Will's smile was infectious.

Halt's smile was rare—used only in the situations when and where it was necessary. Or, on occasion, when he simply couldn't stop it peeking out. And then he often saw Will grin at him, and the smile grew a little bit wider, until it could be considered a real, true smile.

Yes, Halt's smile was a rare, beautiful thing. And, Will reflected, he wouldn't have it any other way.

_Word count: 267_

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><p><strong>Responsibility<strong>

If anyone asked Will, that was how it had started.

They had been captured together. He was an apprentice Ranger, and she had seemed to be a defenseless young girl. And so he had protected her, during their long, seemingly endless walking over the Plains of Uthal, surrounded by Skandians, and with danger around every corner. It was his responsibility—as the Ranger, the one with the knowledge of wars and battles. But that was all it was—responsibility.

And then, on Skorghjil, that windy, lonely day, he had discovered that she was not really Evanlyn but the Crown Princess of Araluen. And then, of course, protecting her had become much more important—a matter of life and death for both of them. It was now more than his responsibility, it was a duty—to Cassandra, to the kingdom, to his oakleaf.

And then, it started to become more than that. He protected her because she was his last link to home, to his friends. And then because she understood him. And then because it seemed sometimes as if they were the only two people alive on this earth, and he couldn't bear to be alone. It was because he needed her just as much as she needed him, and whether he could admit that to himself or not, the fact remained.

After that, it was because she had become his friend. It felt as if they had been through everything together—and indeed, perhaps they had. It was because they were alone, but together (and that was all that really mattered in the end). It was because they were now linked together by the horrors they had undergone side by side, and nothing alive on earth could sever that link. That, for Will, was the moment he realized that he didn't do it out of responsibility. He did it because he wanted to.

Several years later, it was because she was his sister, in everything but blood. They had cried together, laughed together, and been there for each other. Years had passed, but their relationship only strengthened over time.

And again, Will realized that he didn't protect her because it was his responsibility, or even because he wanted to. He did it because he would never do anything else. What had started out as a simple responsibility, a duty, had progressed to something beautiful, something nobody, least of all Will, could have ever predicted. After all, he had started as a peasant orphan boy who had no knowledge that the Crown Princess would someday become his surrogate sister.

And it had all started with a bridge.

_Word count: 437_

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><p><strong>R&amp;R! Reviews are much appreciated - they make me update faster. **wink, wink**<strong>_  
><em>

**Coming up next chapter: Cat, Stories, and All the King's Horses.**


	4. Themes 23, 7, and 87

**This chapter is out a lot faster than the last one... I believe I deserve some thanks for that. **winkwink** In the form of reviews. **winkwink****

**Thanks to all who have reviewed, favorited, and put me on story/author alert. You guys are what keeps me going! **

**This chapter: Cat, Stories, and All the King's Horses. A tapestry, Caitlyn, and Crowley? :)**

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><p><strong>Cat<strong>

To Will and Gilan, it was just a simple cat. Battered and old, but still with that playful glint in its wise eyes that seemed to have seen everything. Its fur was a goldish-brown that was slowly starting to turn gray with age. Cats such as these were everywhere, Will and Gilan thought.

To Halt, however, there was only ever one old tomcat.

His name was Seamus. Caitlyn had picked it—of course. He was battered and elderly, but still had that playful glint in its old, wise eyes that almost looked as though they had seen everything there is to see. His fur was a goldish-brown that had turned silvery with age several years ago.

They went to see him almost every day—Caitlyn because she was so absolutely enamored with him, and he with her, and Halt because he loved anything that would make his sister happy. And because, though he never would have admitted it to himself, he had become fond of the old cat, and enjoyed his silent, comforting presence.

Seamus had lived a good life. His younger years, Halt supposed, were rather glamorous and noble, hunting prey and sleeping in old barns on stormy nights. When he had grown older, he had found a home in Dun Kilty, where Caitlyn had snuck him inside, under their parents' noses, and hidden him outside in the stables. There he was warm and comfortable, and well fed with the scraps of meat Caitlyn always thought to bring with her when she came to visit. And the smaller fish Halt sometimes brought when he came on his own.

When Seamus had died, Caitlyn had been understandably distraught. Halt had done his best to comfort her while hiding the strange feeling of loss he himself bore daily. Caitlyn had tried to find another animal to connect with, but not one ever turned up. Seamus had been special.

And now, staring at the old cat, which was staring right back at him, Halt felt the memories come rushing back at him. Gilan was scratching it behind the ears, the way Caitlyn had always done. "There you go, old girl," he said, and Halt suddenly realized that it must have been a female. "What's your name, eh?"

"Caitlyn," Halt said abruptly. He hesitated when he realized that both of his apprentices, former and current, were staring at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. "She looks like a Caitlyn," he said lamely. Gilan shrugged.

"I suppose so."

"I thought she looked a bit more like a Maggie," Will said, looking the cat over with that calculating gaze of his. Again, Gilan shrugged.

"What Halt says will be so."

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><p><strong>Stories<strong>

We're all stories in the end.

Everybody knows that everybody dies, and everyone and everything has a time to die. Nobody can live forever. To do so is to violate the sacred order of all living things which has been set in place since the beginning of Time itself.

No matter how hard we may try to live forever, we cannot. No matter how hard we may try to last forever, we cannot. We're all stories in the end, and all we can do is live our lives and hope that one day, our stories will be good.

Some stories will be better remembered than others. That is the way of things. Some people live extraordinary lives, and leave behind legacies and tales of great battles and wars, or maybe of tall castles and years of peace and prosperity. And some people live ordinary lives, leaving behind daily struggles and improbabilities and wasted dreams. This is how it has always been, and how it will always be.

All stories have a beginning, but no story has an end. Because even after the first characters die, others are born, and interact with each other, and write stories of their own. Stories never die, although their characters might. They go on and on forever. And, though you probably didn't know it, you are living in and creating more of a story that started hundreds, maybe thousands, of years ago. Maybe we're all living out just one big story, with millions of little plotlines and cliffhangers, and tragic endings and happy ones and billions of individuals trying to make their chapter in the story worthwhile to the reader.

Maybe this is all a great deal more complicated than we think.

Complicated or not, some stories are fixed in Time. They say that, in the beginning of the Universe, Time itself wove a tapestry of History, rich reds and oranges, sunny yellows, and deep aquas and blues and greens and purples. Some stories were interwoven in the beginning of the Universe by Time.

Their story was one of these.

It had started many thousands of years ago, in the beginning of the World. Slowly, patiently, Time had waited. Its nimble fingers continued weaving patterns in the never-ending tapestry of History, changing lines and waves as it went, all the while waiting for its next great achievement.

An achievement which came in the form of two young men, in a broken country, who were trying to renew a group of fighters for the Good and for the Light. They called themselves the Rangers. They wore deep green cloaks and carried bows and knives, and each wore the symbol of the Oakleaf. Time waited patiently, weaving, never stopping, watching as the Corps grew stronger even as a million and two other things were going on in the world around it.

And then, somewhere far away from those two young men, a war was starting. Feet were marching. Evil was marching. And still, Time waited.

The war continued, though now it was being fought. Time's tapestry was spattered with red—deep, scarlet red. Somewhere, in the midst of the fight, a sacrifice took place, and a man's life was saved.

More red, more blood.

Somewhere to the east, a dead man's wife was having his baby, while the man he had saved was riding hard to reach her in time.

More red, more blood.

There was more fighting, and a baby was born. A mother died. A Ranger lived.

This was Time's moment.

Time began working, quickly, on a new section of the tapestry, woven in every single color imaginable—white and black, red and blue, green and yellow. This was its greatest achievement.

And it went by the name Will.

Time wove the most magnificent tapestry, with its light and dark sections, and brilliant patterns and waves and lines. Through the years, never ceasing, never stopping, always weaving Time, though it was Time itself. Weaving, more colors, until Time tied the knot.

A group of people gathered at a bedside.

Snow was falling.

Black—the absence of color.

Time tied the knot.

And moved on, never ceasing, never stopping. More colors. There were children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren. The world was growing bigger and things were changing, and still the story went on. On and on and on, through the years, on and on, never stopping.

Because all stories have a beginning, but no story has an end.

And, like all stories, this one is still continuing today.

Because we're all stories in the end, but stories never really die.

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><p><strong>All the King's Horses...<strong>

...Are coming right at them.

Now.

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><p>"Run!"<p>

"I sort of figured that out for myself, thanks!" Will yelled over at Gilan, who rolled his eyes.

"We don't have time for snarky comebacks right now!" he yelled.

"Oh, look who's talking!" Will retorted, chancing a glance behind him. Now that he bothered looking, the stampeding horde of horses was getting _rather _close…

He heard Gilan muttering under his breath as they ran—"Oh, he is _so_ dead after this. I am going to—there's more! _More_, for heaven's sake—where did they come from? How can there be _more_?"

Will sighed—well, as much as it was possible to sigh while running for your life. What had Crowley been thinking? Honestly, sometimes he wondered about that man. Now that he actually thought about it, there was only one way this could have turned out. And that was with a large number of horses intent on making sure that they didn't survive to see the sunrise. How poetic.

Halt would never let them live this down—that is, if they survived to tell him about it. And at this point, he wasn't sure they would.

All he knew was that there would be hell to pay once they got home.

"Will!" Gilan yelled. "I think there's more! What do we do?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Dang it, Will," Gilan said, breathing hard. "Really?" Will shrugged.

"I don't know—run—_run_!"

_If_ they got home.

Make that a big _if_.

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><p><strong>I'm not entirely sure what the last one was about. Meh. It just sort of happened in my head while I was looking at the prompt and thinking, "Now what on earth am I going to do with that?" :)<strong>

**Next chapter: Pen and Paper, Comfort, and Puzzle. Reviews really do make me update faster, so if you want to read about Cassie's journal, Will's oakleaf, and Halt's musings on his apprentice, please review! If you sign in, I promise I'll reply!**


	5. Themes 81, 98, and 1

**I'm back! As promised, this chapter's themes are Pen and Paper, Puzzle, and Comfort_._ Characters are Cassie, Halt, and Erak - although Will is mentioned in just about every theme, he doesn't actually make an appearance. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Pen and Paper<strong>

Cassie never really figured out when it had started—but if you had asked her, she could have guessed.

It was a cold winter's night, sometime after her return from Skandia. That wretched place still haunted her dreams and nightmares, which seemed to have grown more vivid since her return home. Upon waking, she often found that, if she closed her eyes, she could see nothing but endless whiteness pressing down on her.

Naturally, with this in mind, falling asleep was hardly a good idea.

Before that point, she had sat up, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring bleakly at the wall and waiting for morning to come. But something about that night—something about the nightmare, possibly—was different.

And this was where Cassie figured it had started.

There was always the chance that the suffering and hardships she—_they_—had endured in Skandia would fade away and be lost in time. And indeed, perhaps that was best—for they had suffered greatly, and neither one wanted to burden anyone else with their own pain. But, for some reason she still could not fathom years later, Cassie didn't want this for herself.

She often supposed that was the only reason she remembered what had happened in the ice and snow—though what possessed her to write it all down, she had no idea. But that night, in the wake of that horrid nightmare, she had mindlessly gone for her pen and her paper and begun writing whatever came to mind.

_It was dark, and cold. I can still feel it, now that I am awake. When I close my eyes, I can still see the snow—fields and fields of endless snow, and mountains covered in it and valleys filled with it. But in that one place—that one horrible place—the snow is always stained with red._

It wasn't a normal journal, by any means. The entries weren't dated, and never took up exactly a page (sometimes much more, sometimes much less). Sometimes, overcome by guilt or anger of sadness, she would write pages and pages of memories and dreams—and sometimes, overcome by fear, she wrote only a sentence or a fragment, as if worried someone would find it.

_I remember walking outside, trying to fetch and carry firewood and do my work while ignoring the constant cries of pain and fear. Sometimes you could hear them inside, while you were trying to sleep. I never could—because I knew Will was amongst them…_

_I can see her eyes—still, in my sleep…_

_…The red was everywhere, and when it stained the snow, it fell so heavily you knew what it was, but you couldn't avoid stepping in it or being covered in it, because it was everywhere…_

_…Realizing that I was truly alone, in a cold, icy, barren world devoid of any kindness or tiny spark of hope…_

It had eventually stopped. By the time of Halt and Pauline's wedding, she hadn't written in the journal for over a year. But sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, she would take it out and brush her fingers lightly over the worn leather cover, as if she could feel all the conflicting emotions contained within its pages.

She never once reopened it.

Horace read through it, after they were married. Alyss did as well—Cassie said she owed her that much, especially since Will made it a habit to never talk of the things they had been through as slaves, even to his wife. She knew that Alyss had comforted her husband after many a nightmare, and that Will had told her some things. But she also knew that the tall, elegant Courier needed to know more, even if Will couldn't tell her.

Halt knew that she kept the journal, but he had never read it—he had never even seen it. He had said in a gruff voice, "I don't need to read it." He was already burdened enough by the knowledge of the few things Will had told him, she knew, and didn't need any more.

Surprisingly, her father didn't know about it. She had never told him, even when she told the others, simply because she felt he couldn't handle it. His face still grew haggard and weary at the mention of what had happened in the north. He didn't need his daughter's worries on top of his own.

The last person to ever open it was Will.

They had been alone together, in her room, years after they had been married and had children and Horace and Alyss had read it, finishing with tears in their eyes. She had brought the small book out, and he had slowly read through it—every word. It was hard, and took hours—hours they spent together, comforting each other, because neither could bear to be alone.

It was strange, Cassie reflected. Skandia didn't haunt her anymore during her every waking moment, and it rarely visited her in nightmares. She was living a happy life, a good life, a free life, filled with friends and family. But even glancing at the journal brought back such fierce memories, such strong memories—memories they would never be free of.

But sometimes, she thought that writing things down was her way of releasing them, or at the very least reconciling them to herself. The journal was a symbol of what no longer was, and for that, she was glad.

But the day when she could put away that journal forever—the day when she didn't want to take it back out again—that day was long in coming.

And, for now, the scars remained.

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><p><strong>Puzzle<strong>

When Halt had taken Will on as his apprentice, he had known he was different. Not necessarily in a bad way, just different. In many ways, he was opposite of Gilan, and highly reminiscent of Halt himself as a teenager, which almost made him harder to teach than Halt would have expected. He could definitely see what Pritchard had meant about the stubbornness.

Before the Choosing, when Halt had merely watched him from a distance, he had noted things such as his friends and enemies, and strengths and weaknesses. But now, after taking him in and observing him as a person, he knew more. He knew of the fierce protectiveness and loyalty Will held for those he considered his friends, and his ability to forgive those who meant it. He learned of Will's bravery and courage, but also of his doubt and fear.

In short, the fifteen-year-old was confusing.

But then again—who wasn't?

After the Kalkara attack, while Halt was still recuperating, he learned even more of his new-ish apprentice. He thought little of himself, always believing others to be more important, and never burdened anyone with problems he considered his own—and because of this, he often found himself alone. But, Halt reflected, it was a noble sort of separation, which Will never seemed to mind. It was just another one of his peculiarities Halt was beginning to pick up on.

It became even more obvious after his return from Skandia, when he was still haunted by nightmares and memories of what had happened in that awful place. Despite his being surrounded by countless friends, Will was completely alone in what he had experienced and ultimately survived. No one understood his silent suffering—although Halt tried—and in the end, it was his battle and his alone. By this point, Halt had begun to see the youngster as a sort of surrogate son, and felt Will's pain almost as deeply as Will himself. Halt could see him fighting day by day, and as the months went by, things began to get better. He smiled more, laughed more. He was himself again, a fact for which Halt couldn't have been more grateful. There had been a small period of time where he had wondered if the Will he knew had been forever lost in the snow and ice of Skandia, and a slightly longer period of time, when Will hardly slept at all for fear of what would happen when he did, when he had been sure of it. But, as is generally said of time, it passed by, and things grew better.

They really did.

And, at this point, Halt felt as if he had seen his apprentice for who he truly was. He had seen the days where Will had put on a brave face, and smiled and laughed to make it seem as if everything was all right—days when he was so, so strong and so alone. And he had seen the nights that followed—the long, long nights—when Will couldn't sleep, when nightmares haunted his every moment—nights when Halt was wakened by screams and cries of pain. He had seen both sides of the boy—what he pretended to be and its opposite—and who he really was: the strongest person Halt had ever met.

And now, after the shadows had cleared and things were more or less back to normal, Halt still couldn't shake the knowledge of his apprentice from his head. The knowledge of who, when called upon, Will could be. Everything from a shoulder to cry on (which he had learned from Alyss) to someone to lean on (Evanlyn) to someone to lead you (Horace), and, as Halt had found, someone who—sometimes—needs someone else.

And Halt was more than willing to fulfill that need—more willing than he had been in all his life.

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><p><strong>Comfort<strong>

_A/N: This takes place in book three, after Erak has told Evanlyn he's going to get her and Will out of Hallasholm and they've thrashed out all the boring details._

"I should go," Evanlyn said, standing up and staring awkwardly at Erak. After all, what do you say to someone who offers to get you and your best friend out of hell? Thank you? Evanlyn doubted it. Instead, she settled for, "I'll be missed."

The senior Jarl nodded. "Yes," he said. "But first, I have something that belongs to your friend."

Evanlyn watched him rooting around in one of his desk drawers with mixed feelings. What could he have possibly taken from Will? Well, that was worth returning, anyways - the two of them had been captured with nothing but the clothes they were wearing. On one hand, she was angry that he would have taken something from Will in the first place. They were alone, on a strange island, about to be sold into slavery, with little hope of rescue. Was it really necessary to take from him the one last link he had to home? And, on the other hand - because there was, of course, another hand - she was strangely touched by the fact that he wanted to give it back.

Finally, the Jarl stood and pressed something into her hand. "It belongs to him," he said, obviously unused to giving stolen property back to its rightful owner - or as close as Evanlyn was, in any event. "Give it back to him when he wakes up."

Evanlyn nodded. She didn't need to look at the object to know what it was. "Thank you," she said, and this time it was heartfelt. "Thank you so much."

Erak once again took his seat and waved a hand at her. "No need," he said gruffly. "Go. If you want to thank me, survive."

She nodded, but not uncomfortably, and left the room. After checking to make sure she was alone in the hallway, she opened her fist and secured the thin chain around her neck, feeling the comforting weight of the bronze oakleaf on her chest. She slipped it under her shirt, making sure that neither the chain nor the oakleaf were visible. Despite the fact that it wasn't even hers, the oakleaf somehow made her feel braver. She smiled to herself. Maybe Rangers were magic after all.

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><p><strong>Well, there you have it. Three more themes complete. I have to say I think my favorite is the second one. I'd love to hear your opinions, which would mean <em>reviewing. <em>**winkwink****

**Normally, I give a little preview here of what the next chapter entails. I would love to do so now, except I have no idea what the next three themes will be yet. :) So you'll just have to be surprised. Please review!**


	6. Oneshot: The Road Ahead

**Please don't kill me! I know, I know, it's been way too long. I'm sorry. I know you all want more themes, but I - erm - don't have them yet. So here's a little 630-word oneshot I wrote for yinz in the meantime. Enjoy!**

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><p>The path ahead of Halt was dangerous.<p>

That, at least, Gilan knew. Everything else was uncertain. There would be twists and turns and setbacks and shortcuts, but above all it would be dangerous.

And yet, Gilan wouldn't have it any other way. He could have done without the danger, surely enough, but there was only one person on this earth that Gilan trusted to find Will. And that was Halt. He also knew that Halt would have stood for no other going to search for his lost apprentice. It had to be him. And it had to be soon—for they were running out of time.

People had said that it would be impossible. Gilan disagreed. Determination, sheer skill, and above all, the powerful, driving force created from the oath Halt had sworn to his lost apprentice melded together to form something that could completely defy the impossible.

Gilan shuddered at the mere thought of the boy he saw as something of a brother living under the cruel hand of an abusive master, but he knew that it was more likely than not that this would be the case. Skandians were a race that was, as a rule, overly fond of their ale. That, combined with the horrid beatings and other punishments he'd read about in books made Gilan certain that Will would be massively abused during his forced captivity. His heart clenched at the thought of the horrors Will would endure on his own, with no one by his side to help him—for he and Evanlyn, as Gilan still thought of her, would almost certainly be sold away from each other. It was a long, cold, sorrowful life to live alone, and Gilan couldn't bear to think of Will facing it on his own, quiet and strong and proud. The same way he had burned the bridge. It was a path filled with hardships and pain; one that a fifteen-year-old boy shouldn't have to face now, or ever.

And all paths have an end—the conclusion of this one just came much, much more quickly than those of the others. Because inevitably, it became too much. Will was strong, stronger than most, but there wasn't a soul on earth that wouldn't break, living that life. There wasn't a single person who wouldn't welcome the end as it came, warm and welcoming, to take them away from the cold and suffering of a life of slavery.

And that just _couldn't_ happen to Will. It just _couldn't._

All of their hopes rested in Halt now, really. But there was no one else Gilan would rather have seen looking for their missing friend. When Will had been taken, Halt's parental instincts had been activated. His son was out there somewhere, hurting and alone and afraid. And now there was nothing that could stand in his way, keep him from searching. His closest friends and confidants had tried and failed—even his oath of loyalty to the Rangers and to his country had been unable to prevent him leaving. And that was just as it should be.

In the end, it came down to this: Halt would find Will because he promised. He had promised Will, and he had promised Gilan. And right now, to Halt, nothing was more important than those promises. Nothing. There was not one thing in the entire world that could take the place of those oaths in Halt's mind, and there was nothing that could stop him fulfilling them.

And because of that, Will would be back some day. He would be happy, be safe, be home. In the end, it would all be worth it.

And that was really all that mattered.

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><p><strong>Don't forget to review! Encouragement (or even concrit) makes me update faster (true story). So hop to it! <strong>

**-Phinneas**


	7. Themes 8, 27, and 35

**PLEASE DON'T HATE ME! I've been really sick lately, and it just hasn't been letting up. I haven't been able to write very well, between that and being busy with school/swimming/other related things. I'm not lying either - there's a host of people on this site you could PM for confirmation of the fact. I really do apologize for the late update. Please forgive me?**

**That said, here's what's coming up this chapter: Halt angsting in Hibernia, a baby that looks a bit like Will, and Halt thinking about Will - _again._**

**Please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Innocence<strong>

Innocence, Halt thought, was a bittersweet emotion.

It was a wonderful, beautiful thing in the eyes of children and infants. That sparkle, that bright light of curiosity, untempered by the dark knowledge of reality or of the sorrows and pains of life. Innocence was constant safety, was laughter that would never fade, was friendship that would last forever and families that would never die. Innocence was, to put things simply, not knowing. And not knowing was a glorious thing.

But it was bittersweet because, lovely as it was, you could never look at it, shining in the eyes of someone you love, without thinking that one day, it would be gone. Nothing lasts forever, and one day, you learn. You discover through experience (because that's really the only way to discover). You _know._ And then it's gone, and your eyes shine not just with happiness but with sorrow as well, because you _know._

Innocence was what had sparkled in Gilan's eyes for over a year, before they had gone on that mission and he'd killed a man. It was self-defense, but he'd done it. And Halt knew from experience that the moment you saw the spark of life go out of the other man's eyes, it went out of yours too. And despite being told time and time again that he'd done the right thing, it was the simple _knowledge_ that he'd stolen the life of another that had haunted his dreams and thoughts. In many ways, he was still a child (he was still only seventeen). But his eyes - one look at his eyes, and you could tell.

Innocence had practically surrounded Will when he had first joined Halt. It was everywhere - in his incessant questions, his laugh, his smile. His eyes. Halt had been almost irritated by it, because the boy possessed so much while he had so little. And then, in just over a year, it had all been gone, and Halt would have done almost anything to get it back. It had been stolen by the things Will had seen, the horrors he had gone through. The tortures he had seen inflicted upon others and, ultimately, himself. No matter how many times he had been told, again and again, that he was home and safe, he _knew. _And no matter how desperately Halt wanted to go back to last year, things were different now.

For Halt himself, his innocence had been gone very quickly. He and his brother had always fought, and it wasn't long after he turned fourteen that Ferris had begun employing various tactics and ways to kill him. And, of course, when one begins fighting for one's life, things tend to come into perspective very quickly, and Halt was no different. He had lost the mindset of a child in mere months, but perhaps the most painful part of the whole thing was that the only one to notice was his sister.

Yes, innocence was a bittersweet thing. But now—looking into small, solemn, dark brown eyes that were so painfully familiar and yet so different, and seeing once again that beautiful glow of naivety and happiness, Halt made a promise to himself.

His innocence would be protected. No matter the cost to himself, his new grandson's innocence would be preserved in the way that his own could not be—and in the way that Will's could not be.

Things would be different for Daniel.

Halt would make sure of that.

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><p><strong>Foreign<strong>

It was strange, arriving in Hibernia after all these years away.

It was the same country, he knew. But he couldn't help the strange feeling that it had grown up without him—the same feeling he'd had upon finding Will in Skandia. Like so much had happened without him, and that it had changed so much. The landscape and buildings were the same, but the people acted differently. The wind didn't seem cheerful as it whipped and whistled around small houses and trees and people. It's song was darker, more foreboding.

Halt didn't know what to think.

Several days of traveling through familiar countryside had done nothing to ease the feeling. He had done a superb job acting as if nothing had bothered him, and while Will had at times been concerned, for the most part he had been left alone to think.

It wasn't until that night at the campfire that he realized it. Will and Horace were sitting on either side of him in a circle, as the three of them had been doing for years. It was a position they assumed automatically whenever they sat down and made camp—a habit borne of the dozens upon dozens of missions they had been on together.

Will had made dinner. While he had been cooking, he and Halt had bantered lightly while Horace looked on, no longer feeling like an outsider as he had years ago, but now joining in on the conversation occasionally whenever he felt like annoying someone. There had been lighthearted comments and cheery grins exchanged while eating, mixed in with frequent glares from Halt which were met and countered with smiles and laughter from his younger companions.

All in all, it left Halt with a light, free feeling in his chest that he hadn't felt in what felt like ages. As he stared up at the sky that night, eyes just barely beginning to grow heavy, he realized what had been troubling him.

Hibernia was his birthplace, that was true. He had grown up here. And a part of his heart would always ache for these familiar forests and castles. But he had been away for too long to consider it his home. He had come to Araluen with nothing but the clothes on his back and a deep sadness in his heart, but that had changed. He had a job that he loved and wouldn't give up for anything, and a good king to serve and protect. He had friends he would give his life for. He had married a beautiful woman whom he loved deeply, and who loved him in return. And, he thought, glancing fondly over at Will, he had even found a family.

The land that he had loved and cherished as a child feels foreign to him now. He had been away for too long, had put too much into building a life elsewhere. And he didn't regret any of his decisions. He couldn't be happier with the way his life had turned out. Years ago, he could never have predicted any of it. He had imagined that he would become king, rule for several years, and then die. He had never thought that he would marry (he had never seemed the type), or become a Ranger (he hadn't even known what one was), or ended up with a son who he loved more than life itself.

And, Halt reflected, maybe the fact that Hibernia was no longer his home wasn't a bad thing after all.

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><p><strong>Adopt<strong>

Halt had always held couples who adopted children in the highest esteem, especially if the child wasn't a baby when they were adopted. There were absolutely no guarantees that they would bond, or that the child wouldn't hate them with a burning passion. Or both, though, he supposed, the first tended to come with the second. In the end, it came down to a couple—or sometimes, a single person—deciding to take a chance and change a child's life for the better by giving away little pieces of themselves and asking nothing in return.

Halt had always seen such an act as the epitome of bravery. He had always thought himself unable to do such a thing—not just because of his life as a Ranger, but because he had never thought himself brave enough.

Which was somewhat ironic, in the face of things.

Halt wasn't sure when he had begun thinking of Will as his son. All he knew was that the bright, cheery boy had quickly filled a space in his heart he had always thought would remain empty—a space that was unique to him and him alone. Oh, Halt would have been lying if he'd said he'd never been fond of the boy. But this was different. He'd felt a connection the day he had dropped Will off at the Ward when he was a baby, and he felt the same connection now, only stronger.

Halt was never truly certain whether he had adopted Will, or whether Will had adopted him. Maybe they had both done so and met in the middle. It didn't really matter to the usually grim, taciturn Ranger. Will was now an integral part of his life. They had, without either of them realizing it, formed a bond that would never be broken. There was no going back.

Strangely, the idea didn't scare Halt nearly as much as he thought it would. He didn't _want _to go back. Years ago, the thought of such a bond would have terrified him. But things were different now. There were very few people that Halt considered friends, and even fewer who were family. Halt was now more than happy to add Will to the second list, along with Pauline and Crowley. It wasn't particularly impressive, but it was enough. Crowley was his brother, Will his son. Pauline was—well, she was _Pauline. _Halt wasn't entirely sure what she was to him, but she _definitely _wasn't a sister. No, never a sister.

Yes, Halt had always held those who adopted children in the highest esteem. Only now, years later, was he finding out that it wasn't quite as hard as he'd originally thought. It was instinctive. Yes, it was challenging, and downright difficult at times, but the rewards in this case had far outweighed the risk. Halt hadn't seen it, but he and Will had grown closer and closer until the day Halt realized that he loved his apprentice more than life itself.

Somewhat ironic, maybe. But wonderful and lovely at the same? Definitely.

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><p><strong>Well, that's it for this update. Next chapter: Snap, Disobey, and Eye to Eye. Cassie and Caitlyn will star, along with Ferris and - wait, Will got taller? :) Reviews make me update faster, honest! Concrit appreciated. Flames not. :)<strong>


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